Well after Wednesdays post went stratospheric, I’ve had a little rethink about what the general reader really wants. Craft and quilting are ok, same with baking stuff but what gets read more is whenever I’m reminiscing about the 80’s and 90’s.
By the autumn with any luck the shape of this blog will change anyway and the craft will go to another site, but Is what your really want is growing up with immigrants? That I can do.
I’ll do a failed cake update and then I promise a quick story.
EPIC FAIL 2
It’s Rockettes first school fete so I thought I’d bake something. I’ve got a temperamental oven which only gives the correct temperature half the time. The other thing I have is a sonofabitch thermometer that’s decided to give incorrect readings.
Hummingbirds Cake Days came out again, as you know I don’t fail from that book (yeah right) chocolate and coffee loaf was picked.
First point, this doesnt taste like coffee at all. 1 tbsp of brewed coffee mixed with 20ml of milk isn’t cutting it.
So thanks to my crap Heston Blumenthal oven temperature gauge that failed.( Alright I know it looks beaten up but it should do the job! It’s not that old.)
Out came out the loaf on the left.
WTF! Seriously crap. This was because although the guage said it was 160 degrees it really was more like 200. It wasn’t wasted I chopped off the top and took slices into work which my colleuges ate happily….sliver lining.
Anyway the other one has gone and I’m hoping it will get bought, it looks humble and basic I know, it was too hot to be fancy.
Living with immigrants
This will be quick and I only thought about it when I mentioned it in the comments of the last post.
When I first went to Malta about 14 years ago, I stayed with my grandparents and my uncles (I can laugh about it now but it was a very painful 2 weeks) .
Now my Nan was a character. She used to do all sorts, secret gambling, stealing cats she fancied in the streets, having life long feuds with neighbours and shop owners stuff like that.
She took me to the boats around the Blue Grotto so I could see it. She told me “I’m not going on” and I breathed a sigh of relief. But she did insist on coming with me to buy a ticket. So off we went to the little rickety van holding a short fat moustached man in a vest.
My Nan pushed in front of me and said “1 child” (I was going to add please, but then remembered my Nan had no manners). The man only saw me there and said “What for her? Whats wrong with you?? . I butt in and said “1 adult please” . But my nan went over me and said in Maltese, (because if you show your not a tourist they give you favours….apparettly) “shes’ a child, isn’t she???”
The man blew hot air out of his cheeks ,tuted and said, “She’s an adult”. My nan said “Is she? Shes not married and she’s my grandchild! I don’t know mala”
I paid full price as I should have done because I was 23.